The Observant enters the building. Zero floor.
*ding*, goes the elevator.
The space in this tiny metal-framed box is filled with all sorts of
small tiny detail. The buttons go up from G for Ground up to P for
Penthouse. Our playmate observes (as fit for such nom-de-guerre) the
sticky ripped edge of a sticker in the right edge of the beveled metal box
holding the buttons together in an army-like rigidity. "Truly a fine
accomplishment of engineering bravado", notes The Observant. The
sticker is one thirds of a pink elephant with a gigantic phallus, with a speech bubble hanging in the air above it, in a fashion not-entirely-unlike
a looming white spirit of Death. The bubble contains a cut-off
message, a thought forever lost for The Observant in its' glorious
original form.
"t on it!!"
*ding* goes the elevator.
"Second floor."
"Doors opening.", says the cold female with a not-entirely-unlike-a-
Star-Trek-computer voice. A sign of dehumanized society, notes The
Observant, wryly grinning in a sudden cloudy outburst of dark
humour.
Enter Katt.
Katt, as observed by The Observant, is a punk rocker. She is wearing a
striped undershirt with alternating see-through and black stripes. On
top of the "striped wonder", she has a black, worn-out denim shirt with
multiple metal spikes protruding through the fabric. The backside of the
shirt is fully covered by a patch boldly stating "CUNT", done in a
Helvetica Bold typeface. "Full circle, eh", the inner monologue of our
Observant continues.
Katt's hair is a wildly interesting mix of experiments; the lower half
just covering the ears is jet black; on top of that, alternating white
and black stripes; and to top it all off like a screaming red cherry on
an Italian gelateria icecream portion is the peacock-like Mohawk-cut,
looking almost like glued on in the middle of her head, in all 30 centi-
meter glory. "Must be a hell of a battle every morning", the old bugger
goes on. Her eyes are of dark brown, and the look on her face is total
"Do not fuck with me, you motherfucking cunt, or I will hurt you"-
material.
*ding* goes the elevator.
"Sixth floor", says the food replicator.
The Observant is alone again. What remains of Katt in the three-dimen-
sional vertical transportation box is just a very fine hint of vanilla
cigarette aroma in the air, probably caught in her clothes from a
long-winded cigarette break just a few moments ago. The floor also now
contains the remains of some unlucky flower patch, stuck on from a
walk through the city parks last night. The Observant feels sort like
Sherlock Holmes for noting all this detail, but, then again, it is just
acting as a neutral party in all this.
"Sit on it!!". The pink elephant flaunts its' flaccid message defiantly
towards whoever happens to look at it. The Observant feels a bit uneasy,
a feeling very unlike-for-her. Grasping the shiny metal railing in the
back part of the elevator, she acquires a tighter hold of the round
metal pipe providing support for any possible fellow transportees.
Looking down, he observes her image as portrayed by the shiny, curved
surface of a metal mirror plane. Delightfully distorted, he is again
filled with a newly renewed sense of self.
*ding* goes the elevator, as do thousands upon thousands of other
elevators in other building in other cities in other countries on other
planets in multiple different realities and dimensions. The hand presses
the )!%??&-button, the snorkel-appendage reaches for the Uranium 58-di-
mension pocketspace, an energy transfer in the lower part of the atmos-
phere is started.
*ding* goes the elevator.
*248195825888888888888888888888888888888888888888* goes the elevator.
*ZZNXisoroé* goes the elevator.
Thousands upon thousands of Katts with thousands upon thousands of
Observants in thousands upon thousands of possibilities of outcomes.
Like the one where she is actually the Queen of England. Or one where
she's actually a man in a terrible 5p wig. Or one of my favorite ones,
where they like totally have sex and everything and it is so cool, you
wouldn't even believe it, man, they show EVERYTHING.
The point being, that everything has multiple possible outcomes which
are, of course, calculated from the incomprehensibly large number of
all attributes defining the different aspects of all things. Think about
all the adjectives you can name, for example, basing on the description
of the original Katt we discussed earlier. Now think of how many single
atoms are required to make up her body, and then, consider the thought
of the parts that a single atom is composed of. Even then, you still
have no idea of the mind-bogglingly infinite amount of variables that
have to be taken account of in this series of Observant calculation.
And that, my friend, is why you should sometimes think before you act,
because you never know which action causes a predictable reaction. The
pasting of an elephant sticker on an elevator button box by a
red-headed young boy, age fifteen. The red coloring in the Mohawk
haircut of a young punk rocker girl. The cold female robotic voice of the
elevator, chosen by a German engineer working late hours in a design
shop in Frankfurt, overlooking a silent street with a neon sign
displaying its' dim colors in the rainy and foggy dark night.
"H ute Kult r".
It all comes together somewhere. Just hope you'll be there to Observe.
